Fic: What You Need - Part IV (Sam/Dean)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s relationship, angst, little bit of possessive!Sam
Summary - Dean's got this one little problem with their realtionship and he's not quite sure how to fix it.
Dean's not complaining; not by a long shot. He's having more sex than he's ever had in his life - which hasn't exactly been lacking in the sex department - and he's having it with the one person in the world he loves and trusts above all others. Oh yeah, and it's hot. Fucking hot. Sammy is rabidly enthusiastic in a way that Dean never even imagined in his darkest jerk-off fantasies; it's like Sam's starving for Dean, can't get enough of him, and if that doesn't just do amazing things for Dean's libido. There's this sort of desperate need that comes off of Sam when they touch and it's better than any goddamn drug Dean's ever tried, because seeing that in Sammy's eyes, feeling it in the unsteady hitch of his breath, that's always been the thing Dean wanted most in the deepest, dirtiest parts of his soul.
So no, Dean's not complaining, it's just... well, he may be developing a complex - or you know, whatever the less prissy version of that would be. See the thing is, for all the messing around they've done (and there has been a fucking lot of messing around) Sam won't actually put his goddamn dick in Dean's ass, and Dean hasn't got a clue why.
He thinks he's been pretty clear about the whole thing - subtle was never really Dean's bag, especially not when it come to sex. Like seriously, how many times can a guy lay ass-up naked on a bed without somebody finally getting the hint. Hell, Sam's had pretty much everything else he's got up inside Dean - plus a couple of well selected toys - and still his baby brother seems to holding back on the really deep dicking Dean's starting to go crazy for.
It's kind of weird actually. He's always had a few 'sub' tendencies, he guesses- Sam's phrasing, not his - always kind of enjoyed taking it for the right kind of guy - tall, strong, shaggy hair; ok so he had a type - but it's never been his first choice off the menu, sure as hell never CRAVED it. And he really really does now.
It feels like he's been hard for a week straight; every time he thinks about that long, heavy cock of Sam's filling him it starts all over again and between all the screwing around he's been doing with Sam and all the fingering he's been doing to get himself off in between, he's pretty much been worked open for days. He kinda feels like a whore.
Dean's tried it with the piercings in - holy fuck he loves those things - and without, done everything but fucking held Sammy down and sat on his fucking cock, and he still hasn't got anything to show for it. Dean's a hot piece of ass damnit, lots of guys would be falling all over themselves to tap that, so why the hell isn't it good enough for Sam?
It sure seemed to be good enough for most of the people at the bar. Yeah, alright, maybe Dean was slutting it up a little, flirting a little more than he should, with constant glances to where Sam was sitting in the back researching their next case. He was still pretty sure his brother had noticed though - they'd been here for almost three hours and Dean hadn't had to buy a drink in 2 and a half of them. He was a little bit plastered.
The girl he's talking to didn't seem to mind though; cute little blondie with wide amber eyes and these cherry lips that belonged on late night channels and probably a name but Dean couldn't really remember right now.
She leans in with The Look and starts whispering in Dean's ear exactly what she'd let him do to her - and impressive array of selections. One of her hands is steadily trailing up the front of his t-shirt and - yep, around the curve of blondie's ear he can see Sam watching. Oh, and hey, look at that, there's the girl's ear all conveniently located and practically begging for one of those long slow licks that get Sammy crawling right up the damn wall. So Dean does it; closes his eyes like he's really savoring this and let's his tongue ride a slow, slick trail over the whorls of the girl’s ear. She shivers all over, just like Sam usually does and manicured nails scratch at Dean's skin when her fingers clench under his shirt.
The light behind Dean's eyelids shifts and when he opens them, Sam's looming there like a dark - seriously pissed off - tower.
"Hey Sammy," he grins casually up at his little brother, watching the way Sam's hands clench into fists at his sides. "Better watch it, don't wanna dent the laptop," he adds, just to see Sam's face change colors. It takes the girl a second to key in that there's someone new in the conversation.
"It's time to go, Dean," comes out more like a growl and he kind of hopes Sam didn't notice the way his eyelids may or may not have fluttered at the sound of it. Still, he's been going through psychological hell for a damn week - which Dean Winchester DOES NOT do - and if Sam won't fuck him then he's got no right to be pissed off when Dean finds someone who will.
"You go on ahead," he smiles, bumping his nose affectionately into blondie’s cheekbone to make sure his message is getting across. The girl giggles - might be more toasted than Dean is - and wiggles her fingers 'goodbye' at Sam.
Maybe Dean was a little too occupied watching the girl's fingers or maybe he's just a little bit drunker than he thought, but he misses the moment when Sam moves so by the time his got his brother's big hand cupped around his dick and Sam's tongue fucking roughly into his mouth he hasn't got a clue how it actually happened.
Not that he really cares because fuck yes! Sam's fingers digging in a little too hard and just exactly the way Dean likes it, Sam kissing him into submission all teeth and tongue and so much pressure that the edge of the bar's digging into Dean's back from the way he's bent backward over it right here in front of goddamn everybody. Dean's hard as fucking steel.
He whines for it when Sam finally pulls back and says, "It's time to go, Dean" in the sharp, deep voice that Dean's brain helpfully supplies as 'Master' and when the fuck did that happen? For a fraction of a second Dean bridles at the thought - Sam's not his fucking Master, damnit - but his dick's pretty much running the show now and it really wants Sam to talk to it like that again, so what ends up coming out of his mouth is ,
"Oh shit yes!"
The two of them hustle out of the bar quickly - every eye in the place is on them - Sam holding out his hand for the keys and Dean supplying them without a second thought and then finally, FINALLY they're heading back to the motel.
That's never happened before, the whole 'in public' thing. So far they've had this kind of 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' deal going on about the sex; in the motel, they can fuck around all they want, and out in the real world they're the same weirdly close brothers they've always been. But that, that... claiming thing that Sam pulled back there, practically flashing a neon 'Sam's' sign over Dean's head that was seriously fucking hot. The longer he thinks about it, the more he feels like he's steaming in his skin and he was really kind of hoping to get a little foreplay going in the car - holy shit he really wants Sam to fuck him in the car - but Sam just gives him this look that's as good as shouting 'stay!' so Dean backs up onto the passenger side of the seat and tries not to chew through his lips before they get back to the room.
Sam gets inside first, immediately making for the bathroom and then he's back before Dean's even got the door locked, holding out two metal studs in the palm of his hand.
"Put them on," is all he says, crisp and deep again and Dean's pulling his shirt off like the fucker's on fire. For some stupid reason his hands are shaking so he has to fumble with the little bars for a minute before he's got them back in and God but it feels like coming home. He's Sam's, all Sam's, and who the hell could ask for more?
But Sammy's still pissed, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and practically flinging him onto the 'sex' bed - the other one's reserved for sleeping. The sheets smell like sweat and come and them and if Sam wasn't standing over him like that, demanding absolute attention just by being there, Dean would bury his face in them to soak up the scent.
"You're gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is," Sam straddles Dean's hips, but stays up on his knees, not giving Dean the pressure he's practically writhing for inside his tight jeans.
"Nothing," he pants, scrabbling for the button on Sam's jeans but one of those big paws just slaps him away.
"Like hell, nothing," is all Sam has to say back.
Unbidden the anger come rolling right back up on Dean; all the weeks of waiting, the hungry desperate nights when Sam wouldn't touch him, and now touching everything he wants except for this one thing he needs and he doesn't know why Sam won't give it to him, can only come up with that he's not good enough - again -, Sam doesn't want him enough and just like every time before it makes him want to tear something to the ground until his hands are broken and bleeding and watch it all burn.
Dean doesn't want to feel it, not now, not like this. For a few minutes at least he could forget that Sam doesn't want him in all the ways Dean needs, lose himself in Sam sweat and his skin and the hardness of his body, but it's like he's riding a roller coaster he doesn't remember getting on and the anger wells up anyway, nothing to be done about it. His nerves are jangling with the strain of emotion warring inside him, want and anger and rejection and that desperate fucking need to prove himself that's probably going to kill him one day before some creature ever gets the chance.
So he pushes, shoves, twists and curls in on himself until he's finally managed to dislodge his brother enough to stumble off of the bed. It probably looks ridiculous, him standing there against the flowered wallpaper with fucking studs through his nipples and his dick tenting his jeans, trying to glare down his confused, pissed off younger brother because he won't pound Dean in the ass the way he'd hoped. But he's yelling about it anyway, body flipping over to autopilot, funneling off some of the flood of rage trying to drown him.
"Forget it, Sam, just fucking forget it! It was a stupid goddamn idea in the first place and I never should have let you!"
"What the hell are you talking about!" Sam's up off the bed, pacing wildly but keeping the distance between him like he can't even stand to be close to Dean. He hates what he just let spill out of his mouth, hates that Sam's not trying to contradict him, to tell him they'll work it out, they'll keep this thing going.
"I don't need you to pity-fuck me, ok? I was doing just fine on my own!" he rails, closing the distance because if this is really the last time he's going to get to feel Sam against him then he wants it all.
They slam into the wall hard, pressed in a tight overheated line against each other and it's like there's razorwire in the air, cutting up Dean's throat on every heavy drag of breath he can't stop himself from taking.
"Dean," Sam's voice is soft and kind of awed, so much like when he was a kid and he'd look up at Dean like he was a superhero, like he was the only important thing in the world. "Do you really think I would have come this far if it wasn't what I wanted?"
Dean hears the crackled sob work its way out of his throat, can't swallow it down fast enough to hide so he just lets the words pour out too, too far in to not ask.
"Why then?" his voice is ruined, abused and he forces the sound out anyway through the grasping tightness, "Why won't you fuck me?"
Sam stands there, pressed up against the wall by Dean's increasingly sagging weight, face completely blank except for the flickers of... something, behind his eyes. When he speaks the words come out like a curse in church, "Jesus, Dean. I told you at the very start I'd wait until you asked me. I've been waiting this whole time."
The words fit like puzzle pieces in his brain, but none of them are to the same puzzle. Dean turns the around and flips them over, trying to make them fit into anything that makes sense before finally the plucked-string tension in his chest just snaps.
"I've fucking begged for it you jack-ass!" his voice sounds kind of shrill when it's up that high, but at least he doesn't sound like he's coming unglued anymore. It seems to chip through to something in Sam too, because he actually manages a full-on Sammy-eye-roll.
"It doesn't count during sex, Dean," he says in the voice he usually reserves for telling Dean he's mixing up his Latin participles or that it's still manly if you ask for directions.
"Well when the fuck did you expect me to say it! Over breakfast!" He really hopes the people in the room next door are enjoying this because they're damn well hearing it.
Sam visibly stumbles over that one, sputtering out with his mouth wide open like he was going to retort back, except nothing comes out.
"You fucking idiot," Dean growls, giving his little brother one more hard shove against the wall before pulling back. He starts trying to fight the studs open again, too mixed up with frustration and relief to do it right, so he's too wrapped up in fighting with the tiny elf-sized catches to notice that Sam's come up behind him until those big hands slide gently around his waist.
"You want me to?" Sam whispers and Dean has to will his stupid body to remember he's pissed off and not to shiver when the breath tickles the back of his neck.
"Well not right now I don't. Thanks though," he snaps, giving up on the damn studs and just going for the bathroom instead. He wonders how many hours he can get away with showering.
He's pulled up short by Sam's heavy hand dropping down on his shoulder. It's not fair that that little touch can send a juddery heat sliding under his skin, clawing at his ribs. Grudgingly he looks back over the gripped shoulder, glare still carefully in place.
"Get on the bed, Dean," Sam says, all Master-voice again and ok, Dean needs to do something about all this 'Master' shit flying around in his brain.
He shrugs his shoulder which does absolutely nothing to dislodge Sam's hand and huffs.
"I'm not in the mood Sam. Go jerk off or something if you’re so desperate."
Dean really wasn't expecting to get such an up close view of the wallpaper, and he's not exactly thankful for the surprise. One of Sam's hands in braced on his shoulder, the other's holding Dean's head firmly in place while the full brunt of Sam's strength presses him into the wall.
"That wasn't a request," Sam breathes right against Dean's cheek and he hates the way his head tries to turn automatically to capture his brother's lips. "Get. On. The. Bed."
How Sam does that shit is beyond Dean; how he doesn't just push, but slams Dean's buttons, even the ones he didn't know he had. It's too fast, too easy; his knees have already gone to jelly, anger and hurt cracked away like a shell so that all his soft tender insides are laid out for Sam to see. He should have at least put up a fight, made Sam work for it, but even if a part of him is kicking himself for giving in, the much much bigger part just wants to let it go, let Sam have him, make it better.
His brother must feel the fight go out of him because he releases Dean instantly, giving him just enough room to move as Sam guides him away from the wall, stops him just short of actually climbing up on the mattress.
Sam's fingers busy themselves with getting Dean's jeans undone, batting his hand away again when he fights through the willing lassitude enough to try and help.
"Just let me take care of you," Sam murmurs, the sound rumbling through his chest straight into Dean's back.
It's like he's wading through fog as Sam nudges him gently into position up on the bed; the rejection and fear and anger and even the wants all stripped away and he doesn't have anything left to feel right now, nothing left to do except whatever Sam wants because somehow he knows that's how he'll feel better. Fill up the empty spaces with Sam; it's all he's ever really done, all he's ever really needed.
Time's skipping around or Dean's floating out of it maybe, zoning back in on the feel of Sam's lips gentle against his neck, the cool spread of lube as Sam's fingers slowly work inside of him. He thought he'd been broken before, thought he'd come apart for Sam and lost it all, given up everything, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was what it meant to be broken, to be pure, to exist only for Sam in the way he always secretly has and could never say before.
And then somehow Sam's over him, surrounding him, pushing inside of him and yes! That's it, that's feeling again! Shocky, burning weight forcing into him; liquid spread of warmth from the pain/pleasure edge, the heat of Sam all around him, covering him. Sam's hands stroking restlessly over his sides, his thighs, his chest, Sam's lips, his breath, warm and wet and everywhere. Sam, taking all the jagged broken things inside of him and molding them back into something whole with nothing but his fingers and his mouth and enough fucking will to crush Dean's resistance to pieces. He's never felt so loved, so worshipped, like he really is the single most important thing in existence for Sam and it might just be the most terrifying thing he's ever come up against. He wouldn't give it up for anything.
Sam's all the way in, soft prickle of his balls rubbing against Dean's sensitive skin, so full it feels like his skin shouldn't be able to hold this much, shouldn't be capable of being full and high on Sam and still have room for Dean somewhere in there too. Then Sam's slowly sliding back, tight drag, slipping free only to press forward again. A quick scrape over the bright bundle of nerves inside of him, electric need using him like a conduit, burning through all of the haze until Dean's nothing but raw sizzling nerve-endings.
Sam's thrusts speed up, still bone-deep and rolling but faster now, shattering, forcing his way into every fiber of Dean's being until the lines go blurry and it's hard to tell who's who. Sam's fingertips digging hard into the dip of muscle at Dean's hip, nails scratching up flesh when his hold slips. Slick skin sliding on a layer of clean sweat, bodies working like parts of an engine, built to fit together this way. Dean wants it to last forever, knows from the steady ache building at the base of his cock that it won't, that he's going to lose it all in minutes without Sam getting so much as a finger on him because Sam's consuming him, is everywhere inside of him and that actual touch is superfluous.
Dean ruts back into each thrust, rolling his hips for every ounce of sensation he can milk out of his shimmering nerves. He's going to carry this around inside of him forever, feed his soul with it until the day he dies because for this one moment, this one day, he was loved this much. He was everything. Everything for Sam.
It's more like agony than ecstasy when he comes, or maybe the other way around, maybe he can't even tell the difference anymore. Long hot spurt of ropy fluid clinging to his belly, the sheets, Sam's hands where they're pressed tight to his chest. Sam rubs the wetness into his skin in steady, soothing circles, never lets up on the rhythm even when Dean's overworked system is shouting at him to surrender.
So he does, surrenders everything he has left in the lift of his hips and the press of his mouth and the whisper of every pathetic, chick-flicky endearment he's ever thought about Sam in those thousands of 'this could be the end' moments.
Sam clamps tight around him, body freezing up until they have no choice but to tumble forward into the sheets even as Sam's body twitches and spasms, filling Dean with wet heat.
Sam's crushing him into the mattress but Dean's never felt so light and at the same time so shockingly real and alive. He wonders if this is what it's like for other people, the ones who are whole, who don't know what it's like to sell your soul for something you could never dare to dream of having.
He doubts it.
Back to Part Three
Pairing: Sam/Dean)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s relationship, angst, little bit of possessive!Sam
Summary - Dean's got this one little problem with their realtionship and he's not quite sure how to fix it.
Dean's not complaining; not by a long shot. He's having more sex than he's ever had in his life - which hasn't exactly been lacking in the sex department - and he's having it with the one person in the world he loves and trusts above all others. Oh yeah, and it's hot. Fucking hot. Sammy is rabidly enthusiastic in a way that Dean never even imagined in his darkest jerk-off fantasies; it's like Sam's starving for Dean, can't get enough of him, and if that doesn't just do amazing things for Dean's libido. There's this sort of desperate need that comes off of Sam when they touch and it's better than any goddamn drug Dean's ever tried, because seeing that in Sammy's eyes, feeling it in the unsteady hitch of his breath, that's always been the thing Dean wanted most in the deepest, dirtiest parts of his soul.
So no, Dean's not complaining, it's just... well, he may be developing a complex - or you know, whatever the less prissy version of that would be. See the thing is, for all the messing around they've done (and there has been a fucking lot of messing around) Sam won't actually put his goddamn dick in Dean's ass, and Dean hasn't got a clue why.
He thinks he's been pretty clear about the whole thing - subtle was never really Dean's bag, especially not when it come to sex. Like seriously, how many times can a guy lay ass-up naked on a bed without somebody finally getting the hint. Hell, Sam's had pretty much everything else he's got up inside Dean - plus a couple of well selected toys - and still his baby brother seems to holding back on the really deep dicking Dean's starting to go crazy for.
It's kind of weird actually. He's always had a few 'sub' tendencies, he guesses- Sam's phrasing, not his - always kind of enjoyed taking it for the right kind of guy - tall, strong, shaggy hair; ok so he had a type - but it's never been his first choice off the menu, sure as hell never CRAVED it. And he really really does now.
It feels like he's been hard for a week straight; every time he thinks about that long, heavy cock of Sam's filling him it starts all over again and between all the screwing around he's been doing with Sam and all the fingering he's been doing to get himself off in between, he's pretty much been worked open for days. He kinda feels like a whore.
Dean's tried it with the piercings in - holy fuck he loves those things - and without, done everything but fucking held Sammy down and sat on his fucking cock, and he still hasn't got anything to show for it. Dean's a hot piece of ass damnit, lots of guys would be falling all over themselves to tap that, so why the hell isn't it good enough for Sam?
It sure seemed to be good enough for most of the people at the bar. Yeah, alright, maybe Dean was slutting it up a little, flirting a little more than he should, with constant glances to where Sam was sitting in the back researching their next case. He was still pretty sure his brother had noticed though - they'd been here for almost three hours and Dean hadn't had to buy a drink in 2 and a half of them. He was a little bit plastered.
The girl he's talking to didn't seem to mind though; cute little blondie with wide amber eyes and these cherry lips that belonged on late night channels and probably a name but Dean couldn't really remember right now.
She leans in with The Look and starts whispering in Dean's ear exactly what she'd let him do to her - and impressive array of selections. One of her hands is steadily trailing up the front of his t-shirt and - yep, around the curve of blondie's ear he can see Sam watching. Oh, and hey, look at that, there's the girl's ear all conveniently located and practically begging for one of those long slow licks that get Sammy crawling right up the damn wall. So Dean does it; closes his eyes like he's really savoring this and let's his tongue ride a slow, slick trail over the whorls of the girl’s ear. She shivers all over, just like Sam usually does and manicured nails scratch at Dean's skin when her fingers clench under his shirt.
The light behind Dean's eyelids shifts and when he opens them, Sam's looming there like a dark - seriously pissed off - tower.
"Hey Sammy," he grins casually up at his little brother, watching the way Sam's hands clench into fists at his sides. "Better watch it, don't wanna dent the laptop," he adds, just to see Sam's face change colors. It takes the girl a second to key in that there's someone new in the conversation.
"It's time to go, Dean," comes out more like a growl and he kind of hopes Sam didn't notice the way his eyelids may or may not have fluttered at the sound of it. Still, he's been going through psychological hell for a damn week - which Dean Winchester DOES NOT do - and if Sam won't fuck him then he's got no right to be pissed off when Dean finds someone who will.
"You go on ahead," he smiles, bumping his nose affectionately into blondie’s cheekbone to make sure his message is getting across. The girl giggles - might be more toasted than Dean is - and wiggles her fingers 'goodbye' at Sam.
Maybe Dean was a little too occupied watching the girl's fingers or maybe he's just a little bit drunker than he thought, but he misses the moment when Sam moves so by the time his got his brother's big hand cupped around his dick and Sam's tongue fucking roughly into his mouth he hasn't got a clue how it actually happened.
Not that he really cares because fuck yes! Sam's fingers digging in a little too hard and just exactly the way Dean likes it, Sam kissing him into submission all teeth and tongue and so much pressure that the edge of the bar's digging into Dean's back from the way he's bent backward over it right here in front of goddamn everybody. Dean's hard as fucking steel.
He whines for it when Sam finally pulls back and says, "It's time to go, Dean" in the sharp, deep voice that Dean's brain helpfully supplies as 'Master' and when the fuck did that happen? For a fraction of a second Dean bridles at the thought - Sam's not his fucking Master, damnit - but his dick's pretty much running the show now and it really wants Sam to talk to it like that again, so what ends up coming out of his mouth is ,
"Oh shit yes!"
The two of them hustle out of the bar quickly - every eye in the place is on them - Sam holding out his hand for the keys and Dean supplying them without a second thought and then finally, FINALLY they're heading back to the motel.
That's never happened before, the whole 'in public' thing. So far they've had this kind of 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' deal going on about the sex; in the motel, they can fuck around all they want, and out in the real world they're the same weirdly close brothers they've always been. But that, that... claiming thing that Sam pulled back there, practically flashing a neon 'Sam's' sign over Dean's head that was seriously fucking hot. The longer he thinks about it, the more he feels like he's steaming in his skin and he was really kind of hoping to get a little foreplay going in the car - holy shit he really wants Sam to fuck him in the car - but Sam just gives him this look that's as good as shouting 'stay!' so Dean backs up onto the passenger side of the seat and tries not to chew through his lips before they get back to the room.
Sam gets inside first, immediately making for the bathroom and then he's back before Dean's even got the door locked, holding out two metal studs in the palm of his hand.
"Put them on," is all he says, crisp and deep again and Dean's pulling his shirt off like the fucker's on fire. For some stupid reason his hands are shaking so he has to fumble with the little bars for a minute before he's got them back in and God but it feels like coming home. He's Sam's, all Sam's, and who the hell could ask for more?
But Sammy's still pissed, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and practically flinging him onto the 'sex' bed - the other one's reserved for sleeping. The sheets smell like sweat and come and them and if Sam wasn't standing over him like that, demanding absolute attention just by being there, Dean would bury his face in them to soak up the scent.
"You're gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is," Sam straddles Dean's hips, but stays up on his knees, not giving Dean the pressure he's practically writhing for inside his tight jeans.
"Nothing," he pants, scrabbling for the button on Sam's jeans but one of those big paws just slaps him away.
"Like hell, nothing," is all Sam has to say back.
Unbidden the anger come rolling right back up on Dean; all the weeks of waiting, the hungry desperate nights when Sam wouldn't touch him, and now touching everything he wants except for this one thing he needs and he doesn't know why Sam won't give it to him, can only come up with that he's not good enough - again -, Sam doesn't want him enough and just like every time before it makes him want to tear something to the ground until his hands are broken and bleeding and watch it all burn.
Dean doesn't want to feel it, not now, not like this. For a few minutes at least he could forget that Sam doesn't want him in all the ways Dean needs, lose himself in Sam sweat and his skin and the hardness of his body, but it's like he's riding a roller coaster he doesn't remember getting on and the anger wells up anyway, nothing to be done about it. His nerves are jangling with the strain of emotion warring inside him, want and anger and rejection and that desperate fucking need to prove himself that's probably going to kill him one day before some creature ever gets the chance.
So he pushes, shoves, twists and curls in on himself until he's finally managed to dislodge his brother enough to stumble off of the bed. It probably looks ridiculous, him standing there against the flowered wallpaper with fucking studs through his nipples and his dick tenting his jeans, trying to glare down his confused, pissed off younger brother because he won't pound Dean in the ass the way he'd hoped. But he's yelling about it anyway, body flipping over to autopilot, funneling off some of the flood of rage trying to drown him.
"Forget it, Sam, just fucking forget it! It was a stupid goddamn idea in the first place and I never should have let you!"
"What the hell are you talking about!" Sam's up off the bed, pacing wildly but keeping the distance between him like he can't even stand to be close to Dean. He hates what he just let spill out of his mouth, hates that Sam's not trying to contradict him, to tell him they'll work it out, they'll keep this thing going.
"I don't need you to pity-fuck me, ok? I was doing just fine on my own!" he rails, closing the distance because if this is really the last time he's going to get to feel Sam against him then he wants it all.
They slam into the wall hard, pressed in a tight overheated line against each other and it's like there's razorwire in the air, cutting up Dean's throat on every heavy drag of breath he can't stop himself from taking.
"Dean," Sam's voice is soft and kind of awed, so much like when he was a kid and he'd look up at Dean like he was a superhero, like he was the only important thing in the world. "Do you really think I would have come this far if it wasn't what I wanted?"
Dean hears the crackled sob work its way out of his throat, can't swallow it down fast enough to hide so he just lets the words pour out too, too far in to not ask.
"Why then?" his voice is ruined, abused and he forces the sound out anyway through the grasping tightness, "Why won't you fuck me?"
Sam stands there, pressed up against the wall by Dean's increasingly sagging weight, face completely blank except for the flickers of... something, behind his eyes. When he speaks the words come out like a curse in church, "Jesus, Dean. I told you at the very start I'd wait until you asked me. I've been waiting this whole time."
The words fit like puzzle pieces in his brain, but none of them are to the same puzzle. Dean turns the around and flips them over, trying to make them fit into anything that makes sense before finally the plucked-string tension in his chest just snaps.
"I've fucking begged for it you jack-ass!" his voice sounds kind of shrill when it's up that high, but at least he doesn't sound like he's coming unglued anymore. It seems to chip through to something in Sam too, because he actually manages a full-on Sammy-eye-roll.
"It doesn't count during sex, Dean," he says in the voice he usually reserves for telling Dean he's mixing up his Latin participles or that it's still manly if you ask for directions.
"Well when the fuck did you expect me to say it! Over breakfast!" He really hopes the people in the room next door are enjoying this because they're damn well hearing it.
Sam visibly stumbles over that one, sputtering out with his mouth wide open like he was going to retort back, except nothing comes out.
"You fucking idiot," Dean growls, giving his little brother one more hard shove against the wall before pulling back. He starts trying to fight the studs open again, too mixed up with frustration and relief to do it right, so he's too wrapped up in fighting with the tiny elf-sized catches to notice that Sam's come up behind him until those big hands slide gently around his waist.
"You want me to?" Sam whispers and Dean has to will his stupid body to remember he's pissed off and not to shiver when the breath tickles the back of his neck.
"Well not right now I don't. Thanks though," he snaps, giving up on the damn studs and just going for the bathroom instead. He wonders how many hours he can get away with showering.
He's pulled up short by Sam's heavy hand dropping down on his shoulder. It's not fair that that little touch can send a juddery heat sliding under his skin, clawing at his ribs. Grudgingly he looks back over the gripped shoulder, glare still carefully in place.
"Get on the bed, Dean," Sam says, all Master-voice again and ok, Dean needs to do something about all this 'Master' shit flying around in his brain.
He shrugs his shoulder which does absolutely nothing to dislodge Sam's hand and huffs.
"I'm not in the mood Sam. Go jerk off or something if you’re so desperate."
Dean really wasn't expecting to get such an up close view of the wallpaper, and he's not exactly thankful for the surprise. One of Sam's hands in braced on his shoulder, the other's holding Dean's head firmly in place while the full brunt of Sam's strength presses him into the wall.
"That wasn't a request," Sam breathes right against Dean's cheek and he hates the way his head tries to turn automatically to capture his brother's lips. "Get. On. The. Bed."
How Sam does that shit is beyond Dean; how he doesn't just push, but slams Dean's buttons, even the ones he didn't know he had. It's too fast, too easy; his knees have already gone to jelly, anger and hurt cracked away like a shell so that all his soft tender insides are laid out for Sam to see. He should have at least put up a fight, made Sam work for it, but even if a part of him is kicking himself for giving in, the much much bigger part just wants to let it go, let Sam have him, make it better.
His brother must feel the fight go out of him because he releases Dean instantly, giving him just enough room to move as Sam guides him away from the wall, stops him just short of actually climbing up on the mattress.
Sam's fingers busy themselves with getting Dean's jeans undone, batting his hand away again when he fights through the willing lassitude enough to try and help.
"Just let me take care of you," Sam murmurs, the sound rumbling through his chest straight into Dean's back.
It's like he's wading through fog as Sam nudges him gently into position up on the bed; the rejection and fear and anger and even the wants all stripped away and he doesn't have anything left to feel right now, nothing left to do except whatever Sam wants because somehow he knows that's how he'll feel better. Fill up the empty spaces with Sam; it's all he's ever really done, all he's ever really needed.
Time's skipping around or Dean's floating out of it maybe, zoning back in on the feel of Sam's lips gentle against his neck, the cool spread of lube as Sam's fingers slowly work inside of him. He thought he'd been broken before, thought he'd come apart for Sam and lost it all, given up everything, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was what it meant to be broken, to be pure, to exist only for Sam in the way he always secretly has and could never say before.
And then somehow Sam's over him, surrounding him, pushing inside of him and yes! That's it, that's feeling again! Shocky, burning weight forcing into him; liquid spread of warmth from the pain/pleasure edge, the heat of Sam all around him, covering him. Sam's hands stroking restlessly over his sides, his thighs, his chest, Sam's lips, his breath, warm and wet and everywhere. Sam, taking all the jagged broken things inside of him and molding them back into something whole with nothing but his fingers and his mouth and enough fucking will to crush Dean's resistance to pieces. He's never felt so loved, so worshipped, like he really is the single most important thing in existence for Sam and it might just be the most terrifying thing he's ever come up against. He wouldn't give it up for anything.
Sam's all the way in, soft prickle of his balls rubbing against Dean's sensitive skin, so full it feels like his skin shouldn't be able to hold this much, shouldn't be capable of being full and high on Sam and still have room for Dean somewhere in there too. Then Sam's slowly sliding back, tight drag, slipping free only to press forward again. A quick scrape over the bright bundle of nerves inside of him, electric need using him like a conduit, burning through all of the haze until Dean's nothing but raw sizzling nerve-endings.
Sam's thrusts speed up, still bone-deep and rolling but faster now, shattering, forcing his way into every fiber of Dean's being until the lines go blurry and it's hard to tell who's who. Sam's fingertips digging hard into the dip of muscle at Dean's hip, nails scratching up flesh when his hold slips. Slick skin sliding on a layer of clean sweat, bodies working like parts of an engine, built to fit together this way. Dean wants it to last forever, knows from the steady ache building at the base of his cock that it won't, that he's going to lose it all in minutes without Sam getting so much as a finger on him because Sam's consuming him, is everywhere inside of him and that actual touch is superfluous.
Dean ruts back into each thrust, rolling his hips for every ounce of sensation he can milk out of his shimmering nerves. He's going to carry this around inside of him forever, feed his soul with it until the day he dies because for this one moment, this one day, he was loved this much. He was everything. Everything for Sam.
It's more like agony than ecstasy when he comes, or maybe the other way around, maybe he can't even tell the difference anymore. Long hot spurt of ropy fluid clinging to his belly, the sheets, Sam's hands where they're pressed tight to his chest. Sam rubs the wetness into his skin in steady, soothing circles, never lets up on the rhythm even when Dean's overworked system is shouting at him to surrender.
So he does, surrenders everything he has left in the lift of his hips and the press of his mouth and the whisper of every pathetic, chick-flicky endearment he's ever thought about Sam in those thousands of 'this could be the end' moments.
Sam clamps tight around him, body freezing up until they have no choice but to tumble forward into the sheets even as Sam's body twitches and spasms, filling Dean with wet heat.
Sam's crushing him into the mattress but Dean's never felt so light and at the same time so shockingly real and alive. He wonders if this is what it's like for other people, the ones who are whole, who don't know what it's like to sell your soul for something you could never dare to dream of having.
He doubts it.
Back to Part Three